Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. “Contrarily, you are sitting on a sepulcher of death! It 30 is only a matter of time before the Pestilence strikes here again, Gianfrancesco. You are utterly baffling.
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